


Saisir l'instant: Cicatrice

by AkemiMiyano23



Series: Saisir l'instant [1]
Category: Time Crisis (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkemiMiyano23/pseuds/AkemiMiyano23
Summary: Giorgio didn't even notice it—it was so damn small, faded, and barely visible. It only took him one recreation time with the others to know. Who knew that one bonding time would allow the sulky Italian to learn more about his cheeky, cheery partner? He certainly didn't. Oh, and heavens help him for his partner will drive him crazy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takarafrost](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=takarafrost).



> DISCLAIMER: Seriously? Why do you think this is called FAN-fiction? I'd create a canon or spin-off IF I actually owned it.  
> Meaning, I DON'T OWN TIME CRISIS or anything associated with it. Most of the things written here ARE pure fiction.  
> PUMP IT UP series belongs to Andamiro (and whoever else involved)
> 
> As usual, all translation are done using Google Translate, and you know what that means.
> 
> Changelog
> 
> April 5th, 2017:  
> \- Finished! After a long while...

One Giorgio Bruno was sulking. Normally he would care to let the others know, no matter how quietly, that he was _not_ sulking. But that day, he couldn't care less. Why, you ask? It's because he, the lone wolf, was actually _ordered_ to take some bonding time in the recreational room in the HQ by the Head of VSSE. That sneaky, sneaky old fox knew his file, knew that Giorgio still wasn't pleased that he was already forced to have a partner, one hyper Evan Bernard.

Okay, maybe he was exaggerating a little, but with his quiet, glum personality, Evan was way too bright _and_ cheery; heck, he didn't even believe the Head when he mentioned that the kid was actually 24.

He remembered it like it was only yesterday when it had happened a month ago. A blonde kid, bright and mischievous eyed, had raised a lazy two-fingered salute at him. The kid even had the audacity to greet the older man with a cheery (and somewhat cheeky) "hiya!" The Italian wasn't going to deny that he had blinked, mentally gaping at the kid even as he didn't even bother waiting for his response whatsoever, proceeding to say cheerily, "I'm Evan. Evan Bernard. You must be Giorgio Bruno, eh? You certainly are the most Italian-looking one. I hope we can work well together." The blonde kid then proceeded to shake his limp hand before bolting away, somewhere.

It had happened in the span of sixty seconds.

A kid that hyper _couldn't_ be **twenty-four** ; he had to be a sugar-high seventeen-year old or something.

"Or something" would suit him better, now that he thought of it.

Now, don't get him wrong. A month of sharing quarters with the kid (and receiving the title of "old man" in return, much to his chagrin) would have made him pretty much used to his antics. And Giorgio was anything but a slow learner, which translates to that he was already used (much to his horror) to the kid's odd ways.

No, it wasn't _the_ kid that's the problem.

It was the _other_ kid.

Now it wasn't a secret that both Evan Bernard and Alan Dunaway became fast friends upon meeting. His blonde partner was quite delighted to find that there _was_ someone else sharing his personality and/or views and it certainly didn't help when Alan spouted French, much to the Frenchman's delight, and everyone else's dismay. The two younger agents then proceeded to chatter away in French, ignoring their respective partners. The older men didn't like the glint in the look the two threw at them every once in a while.

Oh, and let's not forget about their respective fashion taste. Which would _not_ be named for the sake of this Italian's sanity.

Suffice to say, now VSSE has **_two_** hyper pseudo-kids.

Long story short, Giorgio now has to deal with those aforementioned hypers. Hence the sour look on his face, even as he nursed a glass of mild alcoholic drink. Heavens help him; Evan was bad enough, and even with Wesley here to (mostly) keep Alan in line, it wouldn't make much difference.

The fact that Evan kept throwing him teasing looks (even though he was playing _that_ game, without even missing a step) whenever he took a sip was really starting to grate on his nerves. Sometimes the older agent really didn't know what to make of his younger partner; on some days, the kid would be so damn hyper and cheery and Giorgio would feel like throwing up, and on other days—like today—he would become strangely attentive without losing that teasing edge.

The Italian shook his head, having long given up trying to understand his newest partner. Let him be; the kid wouldn't even last long with him one way or another. Giorgio was already used to be partnerless. Now, if only the Head would stop trying to pair him up…

"Yo, Evan, what's with your eyes?" Ah, speak—er, _think_ of the devil (read: pseudo-kid) and he shalt appear. Alan Dunaway finally jogged toward the dance/step arcade game Evan was playing. Wesley Lambert shook his head with a fond smile; the phoenix couldn't resist the temptation of the plaything anymore. It was no wonder; so far, Evan was the only one ever playing on that "clearly, definitely arcade" game. The older agents couldn't fathom why the Head would install something like that in the recreational room. Well, at least it was put into good use now that the new kid is here, so it wasn't a total waste.

The addressee raised an eyebrow without even looking away from the screen, his eyes glinting, "What do you mean?"

Alan used a finger in circular motion over his own eye—strangely a bit higher than the actual eyeball, the clarification wordless. "You know."

Giorgio knew, too; he was quite incredulous when he eyed what he pretty damn sure were eyeshadows. No, he wasn't sexist, but seriously? With his professions, both in and out the agency, he had no need of them. There was no practical use and they would slow his daily preparation down, especially whenever he needed to prepare himself _fast_. Well, the Italian had already given up on the enigma known as "Evan Bernard".

Still, he was curious on his partner's answer. Not that that meant that he hoped the kid would remain his partner, though; oh no, he hoped that he would be back to being partnerless, and this time, permanently. Maybe he would stick some sort of sticky note on his person… May the Head finally get some clue to that hard head of his that Giorgio had no desire for yet another partner.

Well, we digressed.

Having finished the previous song, Evan could effort looking away from the screen as he was on the "song/difficulty selection" screen. The blonde smirked, "Heh, wanna ask that while you're on the board? Maybe I'll answer you then."

"Oh? You want to hear my breathy questions, my dear dancer?"

Evan's smirk widened. This time, he wiggled his eyebrows, too. Giorgio could feel himself mentally palming, no matter how used he was to the antics of his partner.

The smirk was returned as Alan pressed the small device attached to the front of the coin slot (they don't pay for their in-base recreational things). Challenge accepted.

Evan snickered as his feet nimbly pressed on the pads, selecting a song for the both of them before selecting his chosen difficulty (a "10") before glancing at Alan expectantly. The brunette raised an eyebrow at him before choosing the same. Evan whistled. "I hope you're ready, Petit Phénix[[1]]."[[2]]

The brunette raised a suspicious eyebrow. He soon found out why when Evan started to spin around, one way or another, laughing merrily when he kept catching glimpses of Alan's panicked steps. The rookie could also swear he saw Wesley's attempt at muffling his laughter at his own partner. Soon enough, Alan gave up on watching the rapidly scrolling icons on the screen, choosing to follow Evan's lead instead. When their eyes met, Alan childishly stuck out his tongue, the wordless complaint expressed. The blonde laughed, shrugging as if saying "it's your own fault, you know."

"Now will you answer me, petite anguille sournoise[[3]]?" Alan shouted, still dancing, mostly following Evan's steps. Damn, it's very dizzying—he could barely tell which is left and which is right.

The younger rookie certainly was bold enough to laugh in his face again. "Demandez, escargot[[4]]."

"Eh bien, excusez-moi de ne pas avoir le temps (ou l'intérêt) de jouer le jeu aussi complètement que vous avez fait[[5]]!" Cheeky grin was his answer. Why did he even bother. "Alright then, qu'est-ce qui est avec la cicatrice, ouais[[6]]?"

The Frenchman blinked, finally missing a step before he managed to right himself. Both the older agents raised their eyebrows, Wesley more so than Giorgio; he had seen firsthand how skilled the rookie was, and it wasn't the first time he played that level of the song. Thus he concluded that it might be what his partner had said.

Dear goodness, hopefully he didn't ask anything stupid. He dreaded to know.

When the two finally finished playing (4 songs long that felt like agonizingly long), the older blonde didn't waste his time in approaching his partner. "Alright, what did you say to him?"

Alan looked sheepish. "Ah, I asked about that scar on his face."

Wesley raised his eyebrow. Really? The rookie had a scar he didn't know about? The older blonde attempted to peer at the younger one discreetly without much success. In fact, Evan rolled his eyes before pointing to his left eyebrow.

Ah, so that was what Alan gestured about.

Alan wiggled his eyebrows. "Allez, Evan; J'ai accompli ma fin de l'affaire. [[7]]"

Wesley narrowed his green eyes. "Alan," he warned. The older blonde might not know French like the younger agents do, but he knew from the tone—that whiny, begging tone, that Alan was practically cornering Evan into answering whatever it was that they talked about.

The younger agent waved his reprimand away, though. "It's fine, it's fine."

"Doesn't look like it, though; that red hue on your cheeks, kid," Giorgio piped, seemingly appearing from nowhere, and if Evan's reaction of whirling around was any indication, then he didn't notice Giorgio either. Wesley kinda worry for the younger agent; those behavior of his wouldn't earn him brownie points from the solemn Italian.

For once, the Frenchman's grin was _not_ cheeky. In fact, he looked embarrassed. "It's just… Well, it's a long story."

Now if _that_ sentence didn't make anyone within vicinity curious, the other agents would have betted on their (dear) handguns.

"We have time," Wesley answered, his underlying tone saying that the rookie didn't have to spill the beans if he was so embarrassed. Everyone was entitled to their privacy, after all.

The kid caught the underlying meaning quickly and threw the older blonde a flash of grateful smile before steeling himself and starting, "Well, it was a sunny day, and not a single one of us coast guard knew that it was gonna happen…"

* * *

Evan Bernard sighed. He never knew that coast guarding would be so tedious. He wouldn't say it out loud, but there were times when even search and rescue mission dragged on for so long—mostly because it was a false alarm (much to the dismay and relief of most of the coast guards). Granted, when he had heard (and some he saw with his own eyes) about terrors around the world, whether it was big or small, he had the idea to abandon his ancestral calling for a more noble one.

At least in his eyes; the blonde Frenchman grimaced as he remembered how his mother had gone hysterical, screaming that he shouldn't be thinking about dangerous things beyond his understanding, prompting him to bolt away from home for several days, camping out with his old high school friends. Fearing the same reaction from them, he had kept his musings a secret. When his (now deceased) best friend pulled him away and asked what _really_ happened because let's face it—he knew Evan better than anyone else not in his immediate family. The blonde confessed about his little, impossible, days-old dream, mentally grimacing at how his friend was _so_ gonna laugh at him.

He didn't.

His best friend, Alexandre, merely smiled with a knowing look on his face, saying that he had already known. Already had a hunch, in the very least, even during their school days. He was older than Evan by several years due to the latter being quite the smart kid—skipping several years of school, got in the same class, and thus he had no problem reading Evan's habits. Alex had watched how mischievous Evan was, but he had always made sure that no one was actually gonna be hurt—he would apologize when he hurt someone right afterward. Very responsible, even when people didn't see that from him.

Evan had been quite surprised. And finally having someone understanding him, decided to ask his older friend; what should he do now? He certainly didn't want to just fade into background much like most of the earth's populace as just another French fisherman, turning a blind eye from the happenings in the world. No, it was against his nature. He wanted at least make some people, the worst of the worst, atone and let the other civilians uninvolved in their shady dealings in peace. Alex smiled indulgingly, later on saying that he should pursue his dreams as long as he didn't make other innocent people suffer.

What had happened afterward was still vague, even today. What Evan remembered was Alex's sudden horrified expression, the words dying on his lips, the screeching of tires, then the sounds of gunfire—he often watched news even from a young age (much to his mother's chagrin) to be able to tell that it was the real deal. Then…nothing. It was blank—a blank, black page of his life. The next thing he knew was the horrified, traumatized looks on his other friends' faces, his father's grief look, and his sobbing mother.

They said Alex had died on the spot.

When Evan visited his late friend's house, he didn't even need to be a genius to be able to tell that Alex's mother was accusing him—blaming him, for the death of her son. The young blonde didn't even need to hear her say anything; he had already known.

For he, too, blamed himself for it.

Now older, Evan shook his head, shaking off the memories. He had a duty he had to do, a promise to adhere to—born from a dream that was about to be snuffed out. Should he slack off, some other people would pay the price, one way or another. And he didn't want another death added to his conscience as "another death that he should have been able to prevent." Evan was no fool, however—he knew that sooner or later he would be forced to take another's life. He wouldn't delude himself, mentally saying that he had been prepared for it—no man should even be prepared to kill, but he was going to make sure that no one would die because he was having a mental breakdown when it eventually happened.

Not even five seconds after the thought of killing passed his mind, he was literally jarred from his thoughts.

_"Attention, all hands, we're currently under attack from some unknown armed vessel. Repeat, we are under attack. This is **not** a drill; to your stations, NOW!"_

Evan joined his fellow coast guards, arming himself quickly before moving to his station. He was just hurrying—not enough to be a full sprint, but still faster than a jog, when he noticed something from the corner of his eye. The blonde felt his fighting instincts sudden flare, and knowing better than to disregard them, his hands flew to the gun holstered to his hip. The green coast guard knew that he shouldn't just open fire in case it was someone in actual need—in fact, he had been hoping that it was just someone in need.

That hope was dashed when he noticed the other person was wearing a full diving equipment, armed with a harpoon with some other firearm strapped to their back, aiming for his fellow shipmate.

So much for "bystander". He pulled the trigger, not even registering the jolt of the firearm's recoil in his hands. The _bang_ of the bullet—one from Evan's and the other from the intruder's own harpoon dropping on the steel deck along with the muffled yelp were the warnings the coast guards needed that they were under attack.

Gunfight ensued on the deck.

Evan Bernard ducked as he thought, _So, this one is also a false information…_ It wasn't the first (whether on purpose or by accident), but it _was_ the first time someone actually tried to target them. My, my, this supposedly routine mission was getting more and more dangerous.

Soon enough, some other divers climbed aboard, brandishing weapons like mini harpoons or needle guns (why those people even bothered with that when they had heavier firepower strapped to their person, Evan could only guess). It certainly didn't help either side of the combatants as the ship rocked back and forth, either from the sea waves, or maneuvering to attempt to avoid fire from the other, smaller ship. It was smaller, alright—with various weaponry either bolted or perched on the deck of it.

Evan ducked to reload his handgun, wondering why the other vessel hadn't fired yet; some of those weaponry should have been able to fire at them, even if those were mere potshots—point is, they _could_ fire. The blonde found another fellow coast guard bumping backs with him, and through sheer willpower managed to avoid alarming the other man by aiming at him.

"You here, too, eh?" the man—Gauthier, if Evan remembered right, quipped. Gauthier was a redhead, suntanned skin, taller and boarder than Evan, being several years his senior—by how much, Evan didn't know, and it had never mattered anyway as the older man had treated Evan like a good friend; occasionally serious with some good ol' humor thrown into the mix. It was with him that Evan managed to become a lot like his old self—the self before the death of his best friend.

Evan grinned if only half-heartedly. "You're one to talk," he retorted, flexing his fingers on his gun. "How's the others?" he asked, carefully peering over their cover. No other adversaries were visible so far.

Gauthier didn't even bother trying to shrug. "Who knows. I was separated when those crazy people just jumped in." The older man reloaded his gun, noticing how low on ammo he was. "I'm getting low here. You?"

The younger snorted, wordlessly saying "what do you think?" before actually voicing something he had noticed just then. "Hey, don't you think it's gotten a tad too quiet?"

Gauthier paused, his eyes on Evan's own purple-hued ones. His brows furrowed when he also noticed the same thing. "It is," he murmured, " _way_ too quiet." The bulkier man shifted, surprisingly silent for someone his size.

"You think they got the others?" the blonde asked, creeping behind him, his senses alert. "I certainly noticed those harpoons."

Gauthier hummed.

No sooner than that, the two Frenchmen noticed that their vessel had come to a stop, without announcement whatsoever. In fact, the whole ship had been announcement-less for the last several minutes—maybe for around five minutes or so. It wasn't a lot, but in a gunfight, it could—or even _would_ , mean the difference between life and death. Both of them knew it all too well, what with the tension of rumored terrorists at large on the European waters.

"Evan, you stay here; I'll go check on the captain. _Don't_ argue with me," he rebuked when Evan opened his mouth. The blonde snapped his jaws shut with a soft _clack_ of teeth. "I need to confirm if my suspicion was right or not." Gauthier let a small smirk slip out. Oh, Evan knew that look _all too well_ ; they weren't counted among the "talented but troublesome lot" for nothing. "Besides, maybe I'll be the damsel in distress this time."

This time, Evan scowled before punching the redhead's shoulder.

* * *

The word "Lambin"[[8]] has been replaying in Evan's head for the umpteenth time that he'd lost count several minutes ago. _What is taking him so long?_ Evan thought. A chilling thought crept into the forefront of his mind; there were several scenarios, and none of them is any good, both to himself and to his current partner, but especially for his current partner. Despite the pounding of his heart, the adrenaline shooting through his veins, he couldn't help but let slip a smirk. Man, he's taking back what he thought that today would be just another boring, routine day. He was pretty sure that there were others who thought the same. His smirk widened into a grin; he just couldn't wait to see _that_ look on their faces when this was all over, because he was **so** going to rub it in their faces.

But first thing's first; Evan crept, keeping his hands on the trigger of his handgun. He would have _loved_ to bring along those heavier firearms, but he just couldn't guarantee his stealth, and you're practically alone with no clue about your or the enemy's reinforcement, stealth could be better—a devious smirk bloomed—after all, you could just loot your enemies.

The blonde leaned against the steel wall, swallowing before he carefully opened the steel door. He was so damn lucky that this ship's doors just don't creak, and thus it didn't give himself away. _Man, talk about heart pounding experience…_ He tensed, feeling the adrenaline shooting in his veins, and pumped his heart, sharpening his focus. Dimly he noted that the ambient sounds—such as the sounds of the sea waves crashing to the ship's hull, were slowly fading away from his hearing. Feeling somewhat paranoid, Evan stormed in.

There was no one. Literally.

Evan felt a chill along his spine. The ship he was in wasn't exactly big, but it wasn't entirely small either. Never mind the size of the ship, seeing the corridor literally empty without any trace of fighting raised alarms in his head. What Evan lacked in firsthand experience, he made up with instincts—real great instincts. He crouched, trying to see marks of fighting, be it wiped blood, footprints (including dust prints)—anything!

But to no avail. _That means that the fighting occurred deeper in._ Evan didn't know whether or not he should be glad with that. On one hand, it would mean that there wasn't an ambush here—not that it means there isn't one further in. Further steeling himself (as if he didn't do that enough by now already), Evan sneaked, carefully peering around corners, using mirror or other reflective surfaces when he could. The further he got in, the worse the unease grew. There was no one—which would only be possible if everyone was on deck when the ambush happened, and Evan was pretty sure that it wasn't the case. There were at least a fourth of their numbers not on the deck when it happened.

_Just what is going on here?_

* * *

_Had I known what actually happened, I would have hurried in…_

* * *

It was as Evan feared; there _was_ a firefight further in. But somehow, it wasn't the number of the casualties that worried Evan—it was the location. It was on the intersection for the bridge and the engine room. Now, Evan was at a dilemma; on one hand, he had to check the captain's condition, while on the other hand, he had to find out why the engines died. It was such a dilemma, considering it would be a lot more strategical to keep the engine running, especially to evade enemy ship fire, but he also needed to find out what was wrong in the bridge to make the sudden silence.

_Hmm… What to do, what to do…_

Well, when in doubt, trust your guts. Later on, Evan would muse just how silly it was to do just that, and how damn lucky he was that he had _very_ good instincts.

Evan crept slowly, his senses on even higher alert, keeping an ear and eye out for possible signs of enemies. It was even more so eerily silent. The blonde pressed himself on the side of the door leading to the engine room, pressing an ear on the steel wall. There was nothing out of ordinary—all he heard was the sounds of the ship's engine on standby, some faint clanging.

Wait— _clanging?!_

Evan barged in, opening the door so quickly as if it was weightless with a strength he didn't even know he had. There, he saw Gauthier all bruised up, a little bleeding (for a head injury—for anything else, he'd look like he bled a bucket), gagged, and tied up nicely to a big blinking, ticking thing that Evan pretty sure was a bomb. And the cherry on top? He was freaking _chained_ to the engine. _He's so damn lucky he wasn't made to lean on it. Then again, it might be because the captors didn't want to risk him screaming through his gag._ The younger Frenchman glanced around the room—there was no one else but the two. His eyes landed on the redhead.

It was through sheer willpower that he barely managed to stop rolling his eyes at the deadpan. No one else is around. Got it. The thin self-restraint fell away when Gauthier impatiently thumped his bound legs on the floor as best as he could.

"Yeah, I got it, I got it. Wait a sec, why don't you?" The silent angry look couldn't do justice just how much the older man wanted to say, and thus Evan undid his gag first. That, it would be a lot easier to get status report this way.

And not a moment too soon, Gauthier snarked, "Oh, I could waste one more precious second out of the two hundred-fifty-nine left— _of course I could!_ "

"Err… Oops?"

"'Oops,' indeed! Get me out of here—we still had to check the bridge, or did you forget?"

Evan broke him free in record time, and the two dashed out in record time. It took the blonde a second or two before his mind finally caught up with his action, and he asked, "Shouldn't we attempt to defuse the bomb or something?"

"Yeah, you try it; I don't even _want_ to know what kind of bomb they had what's with that creepy thing back there when there's _less than five minutes on the timer!_ "

"…"

Evan felt his ears flushing, and it wasn't because of the running the two had to do. Nope, it had nothing to do with that, none at all. He risked a glance back after they did another sharp turn to the bridge, and the next thing he knew was pain—lots of pain, a killer headache, an exasperated look of Gauthier's face, and the fuzzy face of their captain. The blonde felt like screaming, "I didn't even do anything—what kind of wrong did I do _this time_?!"

* * *

Giorgio suspected something was wrong with his newest partner when the kid trailed off right after "well, it was a sunny day, and not a single one of us coast guard knew that it was gonna happen…" If those didn't, then faraway look on his eyes gave himself away. Alan noticed it, too, as he had waved his hand in front of his partner's face, occasionally hello-ing. After the fifth, Evan's ears turned into an interesting shade of red that could turn Giorgio's own favorite coat green in envy.

"…you know what? Let's just say it got there one day without my notice," the kid muttered. "Ç'est fini[[9]]!" And then, he was gone, the only trace being the closing door.

_...the heck?_

* * *

The next day, Alan was still heard whining around about how Evan suddenly became several times more elusive. His poor partner Wesley could be seen sighing, rubbing his face, or rolling his eyes. And it was all good for Giorgio, because it drew attention away from the smirk he had failed to conceal on his face.

"You're going soft," the Head whispered to him as he walked pass. Giorgio barely avoided a whiplash, managing to catch the teasing wiggling eyebrows.

…damn that old man to hell, how did he know?!

(In the Head's office, the computer monitor still showed the paused video of Evan secretly going to Giorgio's room, the Italian's face flushed with laughter with the Frenchman's flushing in embarrassment—begging him to stop laughing…)

* * *

[1] "Little Phoenix".

[2] Song: Pumptris Quattro, Single 10 ( _PIU Infinity_ version). You have to see it to believe it; my friend keep failing because she was dizzy; kudos to her for the attempt though, cause she certainly lasted longer than I did.

[3] "sneaky little eel"; note that all translation are done with Google Translate, and are susceptible to errors.

[4] "Ask away, snail"

[5] "Well, excuse me for not having the time (or interest) to play the game as thoroughly as you did."

[6] "what's with the scar, yeah?"

[7] "C'mon, Evan; I fulfilled my end of the deal."

[8] "Slowpoke"

[9] Basically, "the end"

**Author's Note:**

> Finally done! It was worked on many different occasions, several different places, and so many different moods, so you might notice some...inconsistencies. I was originally going to wait for Elemental-Zer0 for a bit of help, but apparently they had their own things/problems, so I decided to submit this. This is posted on both FFNet, and AO3.
> 
> Thanks to Elemental-Zer0 (for "Ultimatum") and takarafrost (for the challenge that eventually prompted this). Blame PIU's "Till The End of Time" playing on my laptop and Chīta's hobby of trying out "Pumptris Quattro" (without much success, I might add). By the way, I don't know shit about how ANY coast guard works, so these are just my imagination, combined with some Detective Conan movie material I watched.
> 
> Let me know if there are other things you'd like me to write about TC4 (it's the only one I actually played).
> 
> Cheers,  
> C. Rinkuki Takato


End file.
